Misery Loves Company
by DarkHeart89
Summary: He exhaled and clutched the hand in his more tightly. "I want us to be friends again. I do." - "Oh?" Mary uttered in astonishment. "That's quite a request. Especially after leaving me high and dry, leaving me with a heavy heart and leaving me with more than half my share of guilt for what went down with Lavinia." / One-shot, set between Series 1 finale & Christmas special.


Summary: He exhaled and clutched the hand in his more tightly. "I want us to be friends again. I do."

"Oh?" Mary uttered in astonishment. "That's quite a request. Especially after leaving me high and dry, leaving me with a heavy heart and leaving me with more than half my share of guilt for what went down with Lavinia."

Rating: T

Pairing: Mary/Matthew [The Crawley's]

AN: I'm going to become notorious for lying if I continue to go about in the way I have, because I said that my LAST one-shot would be my last DA story for a while and yet here I am!

Truthfully, I just don't have the muse for my other main pairing right now and it's all rather sad, because they're my faves! But Mary and Matthew is a second, so here I am.

This came rather spontaneously because I was in the mood. I'd had the idea jot down back from a couple of months ago when I had watched both the Series 2 finales and the Christmas special, but I decided to execute it not out of pure spontaneity!

I think it turned out well! I read it over today and I was thoroughly impressed with what I'd written. And that is rare for me!

Set between those two episodes, I hope you enjoy! I always felt they needed one last hoorah before supposedly going to live separate lives.

Enjoy!

[OoOoOoO]

There weren't many days or things that Mary looked forward to anymore. It was often very routine, all for some significant show that alas - led up to the same miserable circumstances she was forced to live with.

No, it was not much different than before - she'd always known that a loveless life at Haxby with Sir Richard was to be her future, but now - it was an entirely new form of torture.

Matthew and her hadn't spoken since the day of Lavinia's funeral and she supposed he didn't want to speak with her. He saw them to be the reason for Lavinia's death, however foolish it was given the circumstances of her death. She died from the Spanish Flu, nothing but that. His reasoning for shattering their friendship was borderline selfish, but it was for the best.

Who knew? Maybe they were the reason she gave up anyway, and in that case, Mary had no one to blame but herself for that. She had this tendency to walk back into Matthew's life and make everything go awry. It was cruel; perhaps their separation was for the best, even if Mary had a hard time dealing with it.

All the luster in her life had faded; Sybil was off in Dublin, Matthew and her weren't speaking, and she was stuck here, making do. As much as she adored Downton, she wished to be anywhere else. Too many of her ghosts haunted her at this moment and for some reason, she had never felt more alone than now.

[OoOoOoO]

Once finally arising from bed and calling Anna to dress her, she headed down the stairs, doing her best to put on the stone cold facade she needed to summon. The confidentiality of having Anna, such a trusted friend, as her maid had dulled her capabilities. She may have been able to count on her one hand the amount of times she'd been asked whether she was alright or not, but it was more than she would have wanted.

She may have needed to cease even confiding in Anna about the truth of her feelings, for it may have been making her feel worse after all.

Mary entered the dining room, claiming her usual seat.

"Good morning, Mary." Robert greeted her with a nod, lowering the paper to meet her eyes with a smile.

She nodded in his direction. "Good morning, Papa." Her gaze shifted to Edith across from her. "Good morning, Edith." Regardless of her poor, sullen mood almost always - she had found it within her to treat Edith at least civilly. Mary wasn't sure she could handle any more quarrels - there wasn't much fight left in her.

Edith's face echoed surprise, as it always did when Mary acknowledged her presence in almost a pleasant way. It was new, but she was getting used to it. Frankly, it was a welcome change. "Good morning, Mary."

"Would you like anything? I'm sure Thomas could get you some toast, or - " Robert offered, but allowed his voice to trail off as she shook her head. Her answer was always the same - she wanted just coffee.

"Coffee will suffice." She insisted, the sour feeling in her stomach always sheering her appetite in half. Never could she shake the truth of her future and for that, she so seldom found the energy to eat. "I'll be more hungry at luncheon; it's early." Her excuse was also usual, or at least one stolen from the long list of excuses she'd conjured up.

The problem was she never did makeup for a lack of breakfast at luncheon; as far as Robert knew, she rarely ate at all. And he knew he wasn't the only one who noticed.

Edith had as well, especially come the dress fitting for Sybil's upcoming wedding. Her own normal corset lacing had been unchanged, but Mary's had been - too loose. And if it wasn't that, it was the fact her backbones jutted out more than they had before and her jawline was much more defined. Her wrists less delicate and more skeletal; there weren't many areas that anyone could pinpoint any meat on her. It was dangerous, but no one dared question. Who would question a woman's weight when it wasn't an overweight? There was no need, though everyone could worry anyway.

And they did.

[OoOoOoO]

Matthew was sharing breakfast with his mother, as always did before he went off to work at Harvell and Carter. He couldn't say his own attitude hadn't been greatly affected ever since his last conversation with Mary at Lavinia's funeral. He had been lucky enough to bury himself into his work, but - once he was alone, it wasn't as easy.

Sometimes he was happy he lived with his mother - conversation with her could be lengthy and distracting, but once he was alone, at night, that was painful. His dreams were laced with what if's and he was plagued by what he could have had. But he'd ended it, she'd agreed - there was to be no future for them. She was engaged - there was no way they could ever cross that bridge again.

He'd be the first to admit that the range of his sadness hadn't remained trained on simply Mary, for he had mourned Lavinia for a great many weeks after her death, and he didn't believe he'd truly ever stop. But now that the finality of Lavinia's death had sunk in, he was left with nothing but the finality of his loss of Mary at the same time. It was like losing two loves at once and it was a cruel existence.

"Did you ask for the weekend off for Sybil's wedding?" His mother asked, trying to evade the silence that had consumed him. He'd been so deep in thought, that he'd forgotten to answer her good morning greeting.

His head shot up suddenly, blinking as if he had been in a daze. "What?"

"Sybil's wedding," She repeated with an amused smile. "Did you ask for the weekend off?"

Immediately he nodded, taking a quick bite of the toast in front of him. "Yes, I did and they were fine with it." Harvell and Carter was the ideal job; they were understanding with the need for him to take time off frequently and were possibly just utterly enchanted that they had a smart chap, who was the heir to an estate like Downton Abbey, working for them. He was no slouch when it came to work and he was more proficient than anyone in the firm.

They had no choice, really, but to oblige to his time off requirements.

"It will be nice to see everyone." He continued. "It's been a while." That may have been his own doing. Often he didn't even accompany his mother over, if it wasn't necessary. He couldn't bear to face Mary and act pretentiously, as though they were on good terms. He'd hurt her, and by doing so, he'd hurt himself. Mistake or not, it was for the best, he often rationalized to himself. Because if he decided that it hadn't been a rational choice, he may not have been able to forgive himself.

"How long has it been since you've been to Downton?" She asked, seeing as how his absence when they'd been invited to dinners hadn't gone unnoticed by her. In fact, she was often left the burden of having to provide his excuses to the family, which she didn't appreciate. Oh, if only he would quit running from his problems. It really did no good.

This would require some thought and he paused mid-sip of coffee, eyes looking to the ceiling as he thought. "Two weeks, possibly?" Once the date had been set for Sybil and Tom's wedding, a celebratory party had been hosted for the announcement and to make sure that everyone freed up their schedules to attend. After so much hubbub back when Sybil and Tom had come out as a couple, Matthew had almost believed that Lord Grantham nor Lady Grantham would attend, but that just wasn't the case.

He'd remembered the evening quite well. He'd done his best to avoid Mary, avoiding all possible conversations, all possible eye contact, everything, and he was sure she had done the same. He'd been able to look from afar, though, and she'd looked just as stunning as she had always. But it'd been a brief look - he had been sure his heart was full capacity and was unable to take any more but that.

Isobel frowned. "Really, you must try to come to more events. I'm almost certain they're offended sometimes."

He scoffed lightly and gazed at her in a disbelieving way. "Mother, truly, I don't believe that they'll think me rude. I have had work to do! I'm busy; Robert, of all people, would understand that. Besides, it's only been two weeks!"

She waved a hand. "Oh, I don't just mean recently! Prior to the last one, you probably hadn't been there in well over a month!"

"I haven't felt it necessary, especially when my work has been so - "

"Matthew, I do wish you'd quit running from her." What need was there to dance furthermore around the subject? He was hiding from Mary - that was clear as day.

Matthew had made the mistake of taking a bite of toast prior to her statement, for he nearly choked on it once she'd succeeded in saying it. Tossing the remaining bit onto his plate, he made a grab for his coffee and swallowed many mouthfuls to dislodge the dry bit from the back of his throat. "I don't know what you mean." He choked out, clearing his throat.

Her stare was sympathetic and full of truth; he could not fool her. "I don't know what happened, I don't know what words have been exchanged, but you are both making yourselves downright miserable by continuing to keep this curtain in-between you."

He met her eyes unblinkingly. "It is for the best."

"Is it really?" She'd noticed the significant change in him since Lavinia's death, and for a long while she'd thought it to be true mourning, but once she'd noticed just how apparent it was that Matthew and Mary were avoiding each other - she'd been led to the root cause of his suffering.

His gaze finally lowered. "Yes."

"Can you not be friends, Matthew?"

"No."

A frown re-etched itself into her countenance. "Why ever not?"

He sighed deeply, as if burdened by a heavy cinder block draped across his chest. "It is complicated; /we/ are complicated. It's better to live our lives separately, rather than in succession of a messy, complicated friendship. We can be civil if we must, but that is all it will ever be." His tone relayed a certain stubborn finality to it. Being close to her again - he was unsure of whether he could find restraint within himself to settle for that and that alone.

Isobel sighed to herself, seeing that that stubborn side of her late husband was certainly surfacing in her son right now. When Reggie was insistent on something, there was no use trying to reason with him; there was no difference in this regarding Matthew.

Once again, they were encompassed into tense silence and Matthew swallowed, a bitter taste in the back of his throat. How he wished things could be different - how he wished that he could be the man marrying Mary, attempting to make her happy, doing anything. But that wasn't reality.

Finally, he couldn't not ask any longer. "How is she?" He burst out suddenly, as if the words were burning his tongue. He hadn't spoken to her, had barely laid an innocent eye on her - he didn't know. He _wanted_ to know.

Her eyes clouded with sympathy, though not for him, but for Mary. "She is well." The lie alone burned her tongue, and Matthew saw through it.

He swallowed once more, unsurely. "Is she really?"

"I'm afraid not." She admitted sullenly, having noted the woman's behavior and physical appearance as anyone else had. "She's looking rather - frail."

"Frail?" He repeated, head shooting up in question. What ever did she mean by that?

"Yes." She confirmed with a slight nod. "I thought it had been a new trend, perhaps, but after having tea with Cousin Violet, I - " She paused and looked to him, noting the utter turmoil in his face.

His blue eyes were wide and panicked at the ideas overwhelming his mind. Was she sick? Was it Carlisle's doing? Oh god, was it his doing? His eyes shut, eyebrows furrowing together. "Do you think that Carlisle, do you think he's doing something to her?" He grit out, rage bubbling in every ounce of his blood.

"No." She answered simply, watching the rage melt off of his face and instead replace itself with - immense pain and guilt.

Finally it had clicked: she was doing this because of him. Isobel's heart swelled for her son. "Oh, my dear boy."

He got to his feet suddenly, straightening his suit jacket. "I should get to work; I have a long day ahead of me. Good bye, mother."

And with that, he was gone.

[OoOoOoO]

The journey to Dublin had been a lengthy one, but alright - only with the last minute subtraction of Robert's attendance. His eternally obstinate nature had prevented him so, despite the persistent arguing triad of him, Cora, and Mary.

Those who had come arrived late evening and had had very short time to socialize with Sybil and Tom, before the two had been shuttled off to their respective rooms for the evening - the wedding was tomorrow!

Mary was sat with Anna, allowing her to do her hair for sleep. It was late and Mary was exhausted from the journey, but she was also oddly awake. For some reason, being under the same roof as Matthew - after so long, it had unnerved her. But she was determined to not let it spoil the celebration, even if it as a rather hefty feat to attempt.

"Are you alright, mi'lady?" Anna asked, running the brush through her long locks. It had become a common question, trying to bring Mary back to the present when she got so deeply buried into her thoughts. In a way, it was therapeutic for Anna, considering the recent events with Bates - any distraction from her own dealings was welcome.

She had been with Lady Mary for a long time and knew her long history with Mr. Crawley; being the woman's chief confidant was only predictable.

She blinked, ejecting herself from her daze and thinking over the question, now. "It's just difficult to explain. It has been. These past few weeks have felt unreal and I'm afraid I've only now realized that."

"I certainly understand that." Anna uttered without thinking, causing Mary to look up suddenly.

The brunette was overwhelmed with guilt. "I'm sorry, Anna, that was very insensitive of me."

The blonde shook her head. "No, I'm sorry, mi'lady. Really. I said so without really thinking of it." After a few minutes of silence, she met Mary's eyes. "Do you think you two will settle things?" She was determined to shift the conversation back to Mary - she dealt with enough sympathies down in the servant's hall.

Mary lowered her head, sighing. "No." And that was all the answer she needed to provide.

[OoOoOoO]

Matthew made his way downstairs, unable to sleep. He wasn't sure what was unsettling him [well, actually he did know], but perhaps a walk would settle his nerves. Ever since his conversation with his mother a few days before, he couldn't help but think of Mary.

Wondering, believing, _knowing_ that he could be making her feel and act the way she was - it saddened him and he knew he needed to fix it.

It was rather generous of the owner of the inn to allow them to use it for not only the wedding, but also rooming while they were here, which was all thanks to Tom's mother, who was friends with the owner. Otherwise he wasn't certain how they could have possibly fit everyone in for the wedding.

Lady Grantham had certainly had her fair share of doubts for a wedding at an inn, but Sybil had insisted simple and was only focused on the idea that she'd be wed to Tom; it didn't matter the place.

He admired the two for their firm decision and their unbridled love. Sybil was a wonderful woman and Tom had always been a nice, well-rounded chap - albeit an outspoken one; they were well-suited and he was happy for them.

"Oh, I'm sorry - I was unaware that anyone was up." Matthew immediately apologized as he walked into what would be the lobby of the inn, seeing Tom sat near the fire place.

Tom waved him off good-naturedly. "It's alright, no harm done. I was just having a drink before bed." He said, raising a short glass.

Matthew smiled. "I'm sure there is hardly a need for liquid courage."

The statement was met with a short laugh. "Oh, I am not one who'll need courage. That's strictly for Sybil. I'm still wondering how I ever deserved her love - how I even achieved it. She could have reached for much higher than me, but didn't - she chose me."

Matthew wandered over, taking a free seat next to the Irishman. "Isn't that the important part? That she chose you?"

Tom nodded. "Of course it is, it's just - unbelievable. I've been hit with good fortune and I'm drunk on happiness." The pun, of course, wasn't intended, but they both laughed anyway.

"I'm very happy for you both." Matthew insisted. "And for what it's worth, I was never against the idea." It was true, he'd never seen an issue with it. Then again, he was a bit less conservative than the rest and was much more accepting of things, such as marrying from different classes. Frankly, he didn't see the problem at all - classes weren't all defining and he had first hand experience with that. For being a Manchester borne, middle class solicitor, to morphing into a high class heir and solicitor, he was still the same man. It wasn't the class that defined the man.

"That'll make one for anyone who's keeping count." He joked, swishing his glass a bit. "No, but both Sybil and I appreciate that. It's always nice to have someone on our side."

"Well, you can always count on that in me." Matthew insisted.

He smiled again, glancing at the fire. "You, Edith, and Mary have been the most accepting, even if Mary has been harder to come around. Something about a former chauffeur as her brother-in-law has turned her nose the other way. Can you believe it?"

The blonde made the mistake of inhaling sharply at the mention of Mary, causing Tom to look over at him. He nodded suddenly, understanding what he meant by that simple inhalation. Sybil and him had had a lot of time to talk - and he had certainly been briefed on the whole Mary/Matthew debacle that had taken so many years to simmer down to - nothing.

He'd, like the rest, observed from afar like the rest of the servants, but thanks to Sybil, there weren't any corners covered - he knew just about it all.

"Though, I suppose you would know that more than anyone, aye?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Matthew exhaled, thinking about just how much it was his fault this time. "Normally, yes, but this time it's not her."

"Really?"

"I'm afraid so."

Tom nodded in succession, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Do you plan to make things right by her?"

He leant back in his seat, clutching the arms of seat. "To be friends is all I want from her."

"Just friends?" He asked.

"Just friends." His eyes hardened in seriousness. "That's all we deserve."

[OoOoOoO]

The ceremony had been simple, elegant, and beautiful - the absolute embodiment of Sybil Crawley. There were very few that didn't have tears in their eyes from the event, for it was a proud day to see such a vibrant girl married - and to someone she truly loved, as well.

Class difference aside, she was happy and that was all that mattered.

Mary realized that now, and that was all the convincing she needed to truly support the two. For once in a long time, her smile had been a bright and real one; there'd been no need to fake the happiness, however short lived it was.

She'd only wished her father had been there to see it, she was almost certain it would have convinced him to change his mind.

Afterwards there was a cozy reception, consisting of family and/or friends of Sybil and Tom. It was wonderful and the atmosphere was very cozy; Mary was almost jealous, but felt that was too selfish of a thought for today of all days.

While dancing and mingling took place, Mary much more comfortably stationed herself at the table, along with her grandmother. Thankfully Sir Richard had been unable to attend with her, so she was very much alone.

She felt it a much safer solution to remain where she was, given her eyes hadn't been able to leave Matthew all evening. In their past encounters, she'd been able to avoid him - but given this was a much smaller affair and Sir Richard wasn't by her side to play watch dog, there wasn't much she could do to keep from looking at him.

How she longed to dance in his arms, how she longed to go back to that night before Lavinia died, when they'd been dancing and speaking and - kissing. Her wishful thinking took her breath away and she felt rather faint. It was all too much; now she remembered why she always avoided him, or perhaps.. he avoided her.

Much like Mary, Matthew had also been unable to quit from watching her, at least when he was subtle-ly assured that she wasn't doing the same. He was sure he wasn't being discreet, but this he was unable to help. She was a vision and a phantom one at that.

He almost didn't want to approach her, for fear of making things worse.

"Are you planning on dancing at all tonight, dear? I assure you - I am more than capable of manning the table by myself." Violet broke in, eyeing Mary with a questioningly blunt stare.

"I'm feeling rather faint, I'd rather observe from afar." Mary answered simply.

Violet was less than convinced, but she let it be. Mary herself allowed herself to be transferred into her thoughts once more. However, it would seem that the world was trained on the idea that she could not be left alone for tonight, for she was soon interrupted once more.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting." Came the voice of Matthew, just who she was just trying to avoid - or really, who had been avoiding her up until now. It was cathartic to see him after all this time - to hear his rich, lustrous voice - but also very frustrating.

This was the first conversation they had had in ages - Mary thought it to be unreal for a minute. She felt silly, like a gaping fish when she was so unsure of what to say to a man that had once been a great friend, a great love, and that was now a practical stranger standing in front of her, pawning for her attention.

Luckily, her grandmother saved her. "Oh no, no need to be worried. There wasn't a conversation to interrupt." Or she'd spoken too soon.

Matthew smiled, before shifting his intense gaze to Mary, albeit a tentative one. "I was wondering if perhaps I could have a dance. Correct me if I'm mistaken, but I don't think you've had one all night."

"Have you been watching?" Mary icily replied, invoking an inward wince out of Matthew.

He supposed he deserved that. Matthew opened his mouth, but Violet once against managed to save the day - at least for Matthew.

"You'd be correct in that assumption." Violet affirmed. "And Mary, once again, feel no need to oblige to some presumed idea that I'm incapable of sitting alone. I have undergone much more perilous things than being forced to entertain myself." And like a thief in the night, she had stolen Mary's excuse right out of her mouth.

Just like that, she was dismissed and left with no option but to dance with Matthew, but for one dance it would be. Amongst all of the feelings his appearance tonight had brought, one of them was rage. The way he approached her now, after so many weeks of silence and avoidance was almost impertinent, if not utterly obnoxious. She was debating between kissing him like mad or slapping him silly; she'd settle for the happy medium of dancing with him.

Making it out to be terribly tasking to get up and devote some of her time to him, she finally did and walked around the table, taking Matthew's arm to be led onto the dance floor. Once they got into a position, even if it was much more casual than a Downton affair, it was like stepping into a time machine. Both had rather vivid flashbacks of one of the last normal nights between them and it hurt.

"To whom do I owe the pleasure of your presence?" Mary stared, finding the silence and tension unbearable compared to the roaringly happy atmosphere floating around them.

Matthew shut his eyes momentarily in disdain towards her attitude. "Mary, please, you must understand my reasoning for staying away."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Understand? I'm afraid not. But we seldom agree, so it's all fickle." He need not know how much he'd affected her over the weeks, how many nights she'd spent nearly in tears or in tears.

"Must you be so stubborn?" He inquired fiercely.

"If that isn't the pot calling the kettle black, I'm not sure what is." She retorted pointedly, keeping her shoulders straight. "What do you want?" There was no need to dance around the subject, and certainly not literally. He had a motive; she wanted to know the motive.

He exhaled and clutched the hand in his more tightly. "I want us to be friends again. I do."

"Oh?" Mary uttered in astonishment. "That's quite a request. Especially after leaving me high and dry, leaving me with a heavy heart and leaving me with more than half my share of guilt for what went down with Lavinia." Weeks upon weeks of suffering because of this man, isolated and alone, and finally she was coming apart at the seams.

Of course he was disappointed in himself for his actions, but it was necessary. They didn't /deserve/ to be happy; they could not seek proper happiness together, not with the ghost of Lavinia looming over their shoulders. It just wasn't right. Her engagement was obsolete, for if Lavinia had never existed - he would have fought for her hand regardless.

"Enough with the snide jabs, Mary, _please_ listen to me. Please." He needed her to listen; he needed her to. He couldn't bear another minute of them avoiding each other, regardless of whether or not he was the one who initiated it. He needed her in his life, even if it would never be anything but a friend; he could take that over nothing.

Now, they had stopped dancing and only stared at one another. The atmosphere was intense and soon they both realized that this conversation could not be held in this setting, in front of these people. This was a very private affair and it needed to be dealt with as so.

Nodding to her was enough of a signal, where she turned and led the way. Despite the fact the majority of the eyes in the room were on them as they departed, they continued on: this conversation needed to be had.

Once they'd made it outside, the silence was almost deafening.

"You wanted me to listen; here I am." Mary finally insisted abruptly, after a few minutes of standing in the chilly night air, motionless and conflicted. Her arms were lined with goose flesh, though she had trouble deciphering over what it was from.

"I'm gathering my wits, am I allowed that?" Matthew returned in equal measure. Yes, there was certainly something about her attitude that unraveled him so.

She simply hmphed and turned her head, folding her arms. It was cold and her patience was running thin.

What was he to say that could convince her? He'd made a mistake by sending her away and pushing her even further away with his actions, but that didn't mean they deserved happiness. He just reasoned friends wasn't happiness, it was just a compromise. In a way, it was further torture - she was a hair's length away at all times and without being able to care for her in the way he always had, that would bring him the very opposite of happiness. But not being able to know her at all - that was an alternative he never wanted again.

"I want to be friends." He reinstated.

"You've already said that."

"I _mean_ it."

Her head turned sharply. "And how am I to know you won't thrust more blame at me come the future? That you won't do this again?"

"Mary, for all the pain that I have caused myself, I am aware that I have invoked so much more on you because of this and I - "

"Oh, do not - " Her head turned away as his hands clasped either of her shoulder blades, her bony shoulder blades. He frowned at the feeling, pained to find that his mother's words had rang true.

He was feeling dreadful, absolutely dreadful. For all the guilt that had weighed on his shoulders since Lavinia's death, this was perhaps the greatest weight of all - knowing that he had invoked this kind of pain on Mary's shoulders. No, this - _was_ the greatest pain of all.

"Do not - tell me, that I am wrong." He insisted, eyebrows furrowing. "I can see the effect it has had on you."

"And what is that, pray?" She shrewdly broke out, almost a laugh in her voice. He was certain the reason she was not looking at him was due to tears - he could hear it alongside the wry tone.

His hand slid from a shoulder to the side of her face, coaxing her to look up at him. "I know, Mary, I know."

"What do you know?" She choked, feeling unstrung and vulnerable, disliking every last minute. All of her practice, her poised acting skills, all shattered the minute Matthew got her alone.

Suddenly, he quickly wound her into an embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head and trying to bring her comfort, trying to repay her for all he had done. Her frail body shook in his arms, only making him hold her tighter.

Matthew could not bear to tell her, not bear to break her this way. She knew, he knew, further clarification was obsolete and perhaps heart breaking to her. She was the strongest person he had ever come to know and he would not diminish her pride by admitting what he knew to be true.

"We must be friends, we must always always be friends." He murmured. "A life without knowing you is a life not worth living." And damn him for his selfish, selfish thought, but if he were to not know Mary, he would pray every night that Lavinia and him could switch places.

She wasn't sure what to think, she didn't know what to do. All she knew was that Matthew would now be in her life once more and she couldn't bear to remain sad about it.

Remaining at arm's length from him would be heart breaking for the rest of her life, but a lack of him at all - a lack of a true knowing him could be fatal, to her.

He slowly released her, though keeping his hands incasing her upper arms. He couldn't release her, not yet. He needed to hold her, even if this was one of the last times they would ever be able to be intimate. She was engaged; this wasn't proper.

"Friends." She breathed as she gazed at him, her beautiful brown eyes watery and doe-like; Matthew's heart could have disintegrated on the spot.

He wanted nothing more than to give her what she wanted, what they both wanted, but it was just not their future.

His hand raised once more, stroking her cheek very lightly. "That's all we'll need; truly." It may be what killed him, but it would be done.

She leaned closer to him, so close that he could feel her breath on his cheek and their noses brushed. It was a battle of who had more restraint and he was just at the point where he had none.

Without remorse, he leant forward and captured her lips once more, passion coiling inside of him. He felt nothing but love for this woman in front of him for as long as he'd know her and he'd be damned if he was to be condemned to a life without being able to show her if he was not able to take something with him: one last hoorah.

She clutched at his face, his beautiful face and poured ever last ounce of her hurt into the kiss, every last ounce of her love for him. She needed this, required this, to even possibly be able to come to terms with what her life had become.

It wasn't long enough - it could _never_ be long enough, before they each had to pull back. They both stared at each other, an unspoken agreement between the two.

They knew where they stood now; misery loved company.

[OoOoOoO]

AN: Thanks for reading!

I actually have ANOTHER idea, set back into Series 1 that I may dabble with. I like providing throwback AU's! It's fun. And this one was while I was reading a story and I thought to Harvell and Carter. THIS will be cute; much cuter than the angst-y and melancholy pieces I've been writing.

Maybe it'll even be pure fluff!

Reviews are my life; don't kill me!


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